


Blood In The Cut

by reysrose



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dark Rey (Star Wars), F/M, Force Dyad (Star Wars), Jakku, Jedi Ben Solo, Major Character Injury, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Role Reversal, Tatooine (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23536861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reysrose/pseuds/reysrose
Summary: Salt. Smoke. Blood. A gunshot. Kira Ren's remaking into Rey
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this like 2 years ago, posted it, and took it down. now it's back

Salt, smoke, and blood are bitter in Kira Ren’s mouth. 

She’s on her back, head reeling, thigh aching and throbbing where Hux had shot her. Hux had shot her. She can’t quite wrap her head around the fact that Hux, the slimy little weasel, had shot her as she was waking up. He seems to tower over her now, pale face drawn in disgust. He’s always hated her. She smiles, the pain in her head and leg twisting her mouth into a grimace. Blood coats her teeth and she spits, pink saliva dripping down her chin and onto her cowl, dragging herself backwards away from Hux even as he advances, blaster primed to take another shot. Her leg throbs and her vision spots out, her arms trembling. She snarls, jerking at Hux with the Force. 

“You wouldn’t dare kill me.” 

Across the room, Ben Solo is still unconscious, a dark, hulking heap against the flame licking across the throne room. The fire steals the oxygen from the air, from her lungs. She gasps, looking up at Hux with eyes that don’t want to focus. She’s too weak, her attempt at choking him out is failing. She prays, reaching out to the Force and begging, that Ben remains unconscious and inconspicuous. If she doesn’t make it out alive, at least Ben has a chance. Hux kneels over her, wiping the spit from her face with a gloved finger and then yanking her head up, fist tangled in her sweaty hair. There’s a cut on her scalp, dripping blood onto the floor. The rhythm reminds her of mostly empty canteens and sand and burning sun. Kira Ren wants to howl like the rabid dog Hux and the high command thinks she is, to kill the man holding her by the scalp, to kill every last one of them. Instead, she groans from the pain, fighting ineffectually, betrayed by her injuries and by the Force. 

“You killed the Supreme Leader.” 

“Worried now that there’s nobody to hold your leash, General?”

Hux slaps her across the face.

She laughs, a wheezy, hissing thing. Blood fills her mouth and she coughs, black soot sitting heavy on her dry tongue. She is accustomed to thirst and heat, she realizes. Her body has not forgotten Jakku. Sweat beads down her forehead and she reaches out, seeking her lightsaber. Her kyber crystal, fractured and glowing, sparks in the back of her mind. She tugs. Hux places his boot on the charred hole in the corded muscle of her thigh and grinds the heel into the wound. She digs her head into the durasteel floor resting beneath her and screams, losing the hold she had on her weapon, just as the ship rattles and a concussive force blows through the room, sending her skidding back. Hux loses his balance as the ship tilts and hits the floor with a satisfying crack. He doesn’t get up. Her head slams into Snoke’s throne, and she comes face to face with the severed top half of her old master. 

For the second time that day, Kira Ren’s world goes black.  
She jolts up screaming, Ben’s name high in her throat and panic wrapped around her chest, squeezing her bruised ribs. 

“Hey, hey, hey easy. Rey, easy.”

Her given name sounds sweet on his tongue. Ben. A sense of calm washes over her and she realizes he’s compelling her and shoves up the walls in her brain. Her eyes snap open. 

“Breathe.” 

A palm, placed over her chest. They’re in a ship, she’s staring up at the bulkhead. Her vision doubles and nausea surges in her belly. She turns her head to look at Ben. He’s got a bruise on his temple and jagged slices across his face. She wants to reach up and touch them, trace the marks that mirror the scar he left her on Starkiller, but her hands are shaking. 

“You look like bantha shit, Solo.” 

Her head hurts. There are three Bens looking back at her. Rey’s mouth fills with saliva. 

“Glad to see the concussion didn’t knock the sarcasm out of you.” 

There’s a familiar swooping sensation in her belly. They’re entering atmo. 

“Where are we?”

“Crait.” 

She shoves herself up and out of the bunk, howling in pain and rage when her leg buckles underneath her. Ben catches her, tugging her against his soot stained chest. There’s a burn on his neck. 

“I can’t, no, they’ll kill me.” 

Ben doesn’t have time to argue. They’re in atmo, and she can hear the scream of TIEs and X Wings around them. She scrambles up, headed for the gunner post on instinct. 

“No. Stay put.” 

“I can fight!” 

Ben takes off before she can argue more, the sound of gunfire pinging off the hull of the ship and rocking the entire thing. A Wookiee howls from somewhere in the ship. Rey grits her teeth. A wave of blackness washes over her vision as the ship dips and turns. She hears Ben holler something from the gunner’s seat. Her hands grip the nearest ledge, trying to ground herself to consciousness. It’s not working. The ship flips, and her knees give out. Stupid fucking leg. 

“Rey, you all good up there?”

When she tries to respond, she ends up doubled over and heaving. A warm hand gathers her hair. 

“Wh-What happened?”

A wave of vomit hits the floor of the ship.

“It’s ok. Chewie, you got the beacon?”

An affirmative roar. That must be the Wookiee, then. Rey throws up again, wiping her mouth with the edge of her cowl. 

The ship lands. She straightens up on shaky legs and follows Ben down the ramp to be confronted with a pile of rocks. Her right leg, the one with the blaster hole in it, buckles and she hits a knee in the salty residue covering Crait’s red surface. Ben looks haggard, his entire body shaking. He’s more injured than he’s letting on. 

“We need to move those rocks.”

Rey is too tired, too sick and weak, to argue, so she just stretches out an arm wordlessly and lifts. 

There are people staggering out of the hole moving the boulders created, and Rey shivers when she sees FN-2187 and the pilot he’d helped escape. Ben falls to his knees, the boulders shuddering. Rey lets them drop, head spinning. She needs to get to Ben. 

“That’s Kira Ren!”

“What the kriff is she doing?”

“She’s hurt. They’re both hurt.” 

She stumbles to Ben, collapsing next to him. His heavy head falls on her shoulder. Every single weapon in the possession of the Resistance is trained on her as she presses her hands to his back. Ben shakes. He needs rest. Her head throbs again. She’s hot and cold at the same time, sweat beading her forehead. Her mouth fills with the taste of blood again. 

“Consider me defected,” she croaks out. The world tilts, Rey falling and Ben falling with her. 

As she lays on her side, the warmth of Ben Solo pressing into her back and her tenuous grip on consciousness growing ever looser, salt, smoke, and blood are bitter in Kira Ren’s mouth.

Only, she’s not Kira Ren anymore. 

“Rey,” Ben breathes out, his breath hot on her neck. She can’t see anything anymore, her ears ringing with warning as her blood pressure drops and she finally slams into unconsciousness in the mineral deposits of Crait. 

Her name sounds so sweet on his tongue. 

CH 2

Poe doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get over just how small Kira Ren is. When she was hovering over him, masked and swathed in black fabric and leather and ripping his mind apart, she had seemed so much larger than she did right now, curled on her cape on the floor of the Falcon, leg charred with blaster fire, blood streaking her freckled skin, cold sweat beading her flushed face. 

She’s been moaning in her sleep off and on since they left atmo, still unconscious from her collapse onto the salt with Ben at her back, covered in a ratty blanket that Leia had dug out of some crate. The girl, because she is a girl, can’t be any older than Rose Tico, is burning with fever and shaking against the black fabric they’d laid her out on. Poe knows someone needs to check the wound on her thigh, the cut matting her dark hair with blood, but nobody on the ship will get close enough to her to even consider checking her injuries. Poe doesn’t blame them. Poe’s only this close to her because Ben is refusing to leave her, and Poe is refusing to leave Ben. Seeing as the last time they’d been apart during this war, Poe had cost the Resistance hundreds of men and Ben had fucking shipped himself to a dark lord in one of the Falcon’s ancient escape pods, Poe has made the executive decision to stay close to his best friend. For safety reasons. 

Ben is asleep against the wall, drifting through consciousness, his concussed brain dragging him under whenever he manages to wake up. Poe’s eyes flit over his best friend and back to Kira Ren, who’s shifted closer to Ben’s bulk. She’s a child, Poe thinks. A child, who has been used to murder and destroy billions and billions of people. He shivers, thinks of the destruction he’s caused. Pushes the thought away. Someone needs to tend to her wounds, and Ben is too sick to do it. He’s barely gotten five coherent words out of him since they’ve been hurtling through hyperspace. Poe grits his teeth. 

Kira Ren’s eyes roll open when he crouches near her, and she jerks away, moaning in terror and pain as she tries to escape him. Poe holds his hands out where she can see them, breathing steadily and waiting to feel an invisible hand tighten around his windpipe or dig into his brain. Nothing happens. The girl lets out a dry whine and curls farther into her cape, her cloudy hazel eyes unfocused. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He tries to touch her. She snarls, lips curling back against sharp white teeth stained with blood. The air seems to shiver around him and it takes all Poe has not to scramble backwards on his hands and knees. Away from a sick, trembling, 20 year old girl. Get it together, Dameron, he yells at himself in his head. 

“You’re…” she stops, licking her dry lips, her eyes still barely open and completely unfocused. “Scared. I can feel it.” 

He tries not to shudder and isn’t successful. Kira Ren’s snarl sharpens into a grin. 

“I interrogated you.” 

“You did.” 

The girl coughs, wheezing. Smoke inhalation. Ben has the signs of it too. Whatever happened up there, it was ugly. Poe sits back on his heels. 

“Your mind didn’t break easy.”

The girl is paling by the second, clearly using all her limited energy in taunting him. Poe snorts. He’s not sure if this is supposed to be a compliment or not. He holds his hand towards her, clearly showing her that he’s coming to touch her. Her forehead is burning under a sheen of slick, cold sweat. 

“Someone needs to patch you up.”

“Ben.”

“He’s asleep.” 

The girl rolls her feverish eyes, wincing when it makes her head throb. Something wraps around his hand and yanks. Poe yelps. Kira Ren smirks lopsidedly. Her eyes roll back into her head, her body goes limp, and she collapses back into the black pile of her cape. Poe exhales, hard. 

She may be not much more than a child, but she’s the scariest fucking child he’s ever had the displeasure of encountering.  
Ben wakes up with a throbbing headache and a hot, writhing weight in his lap. He groans, swatting at whatever won’t stop moving against his thighs. A watery, high pitched moan cuts through the fog between his eyes. He snaps them open. 

Rey is mostly in his lap, her sweaty forehead pressing into his stomach through his thin t shirt. She’s trembling, her little fist curled against his thigh. Urgency cuts through the concussion blurring his brain and he bolts straight up, his back lifting off the durasteel wall of the Falcon that curves behind his bruised back. She’s burning up, her slight weight a furnace against his salted clothes. 

“Rey, Rey-” 

She lets out a warbling moan, blunt nails digging into his skin. Poe crouches, looking nervous, a wet rag clutched in his hand. Around them, the Falcon is dead silent, what’s left of the Resistance standing silent and still as they watch whatever he just woke up into unfold. 

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“She’s having a nightmare-she’s been screaming and crying.” 

Ben stares around the room, Rey’s weak, hot body still squirming in his lap as she cries out at something living in her head. 

“And nobody thought-” 

Poe cuts him off, handing him the wet rag. Ben presses it to Rey’s sweltering forehead, glaring daggers at his best friend. 

“She throws whoever gets too close to her into a goddamn wall, Solo. We gave up.” 

Ben focuses on Rey then, blocking out the rest of the ship. She’s so hot beneath his hands, and he can feel a sliver of her pain through the bond. It’s nearly enough to make him grunt and groan in pain. His hands run over her body, turning her thigh to look at the wound he remembers grimacing at as he sprinted through a dying star destroyer with Kira Ren in his arms. 

It’s infected. Ben swears.

“I need a medpack.”

“There aren’t any medpacks.” 

He looks up from Rey’s infected leg, wild and panicked, and it must show in his eyes. 

“Is there anything left?” 

Rose Tico, cocooned in a bunk to the left of them, sits up, a small, mostly empty tube of bacta dangling from her fingers. 

“She can have the rest of this.” 

There’s an uproar, members of the Resistance yelling over each other over why they can’t give Kira Ren basic medical care. Ben clings to Rey, sitting her up. Her lungs sound heavy and painful, the way his feel. 

“Enough.” 

His mother storms in. Ben has never been more relieved to see her in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Even with the bacta applied to the infection site, or what little bacta Ben can even manage to wring from the mostly crushed tube Rose had given him, Rey grows increasingly fevered as they travel through hyperspace. Ben has a vague idea of where they’re going, but he’s so wrapped up in keeping an eye on Rey that he mostly brushes off any discussion of strategy. Rey, who is arguably the most powerful being in the galaxy, definitely more powerful than him, is a shaking fetal ball against his long legs, unable to even lift her head without his help. The infection in her leg hit hard, and hit fast, and the cut on her head has yet to stop bleeding completely. The human body’s inability to take a solid hit has effectively decimated Kira Ren. 

Her Force signature is a wavering, weak thing in his aching head. Ben manages to wake her up every so often, coax water down her throat. She’s awake now, her eyes hazy, shivering even as heat rolls off her thin, scarred limbs in waves. They’d stripped her down to undergarments in an attempt to cool her off, and Ben can’t help but trace the pad of his finger across the pink, warped skin of her lower abdomen, where Chewie had shot her on the bridge at Starkiller. 

“Rey?”

Her head lolls where it rests on his chest. He wets the rag absorbing heat on her neck, sponging the sweat off her face. At least if she’s awake, she can’t fall into screaming night terrors. Ben sighs, cupping her chin in his hand. 

“Can you drink for me, Sweetheart?”

Her eyes droop. Ben presses the rim of a dented metal cup to her cracked lips, parting them at the seam. 

“You have to drink, Rey.” 

He can feel eyes on him, the remaining members of the organization he’d sworn to protect, people who don’t trust him anymore because of the girl cradled in his arms and the fact that she is being allowed to live. Rey coughs, her lungs stuttering in her heaving ribcage. They’re both struggling to fight off the lingering smoke inhalation. His own lungs are tender and thick with dark mucus. He readjusts his hold on the cup, coaxing it against her mouth again and tilting it up. She manages a few swallows before she’s leaning away from him, gasping weakly for air. 

“Good girl. That’s it.” 

She falls asleep in his lap within seconds, the simple act of drinking draining her completely. Ben sighs, leaning his head against the bulkhead of the Falcon, his brain throbbing in his skull. 

Delirium begins to set in for Rey as the fuel gauges in the Falcon begin to dip towards dangerous. She likes to talk, Ben discovers, her eyes focused past him into the blur of space out the port window in the crew quarters. She rambles on and on about portions and prices, her hands fluttering in front of her as she lectures someone only she can see. He doesn’t understand a word of it. He murmurs his assent whenever she pauses in her conversation, stroking her blood crusted hair and getting water down her throat whenever he can manage to convince her to drink it. Most of the time it stays in her stomach. Sometimes it ends up on his pants or down her shirt. 

The Falcon lands on Tatooine, the place that Ben knows his grandfather and his uncle lived and suffered on. In his arms, Rey rambles happily until the gangplank lowers. A blast of hot, sun baked desert air whips into the crew quarters, and Rey stiffens as it curls across her body.

“No. No, no, no, please.”

“Shhhh. Shhh. Hush, it’s ok.”

He rocks her gently, confused. Rey whines in the back of her throat, staring up at him with teary eyes. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good please don’t send me back, please-”

She’s openly weeping, clinging to his shirt with strength he didn’t know she had in her. He traces her nose gently, still rocking. People are beginning to stare. Rey shrieks, her nails cutting into his skin. Ben grunts, standing from his position and pacing slow circles around the crew quarters. He can hear the whispers, from the other resistance members, and he blocks them out, focusing in on Rey. 

“You’re safe. Nobody is sending you anywhere.” 

“Please, Master. Please, please, I’ll be better, I’ll be so much better I swear, I swear, please don’t send me back to Jakku, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” 

Jakku. 

Ben swallows. The scars on her body, the jagged ones, silvery slips of skin across Rey’s back and arms that he saw in the Force Bond, make sense now. Jakku is a junkyard, one too dangerous for an adult on their own, let alone a child. He feels sick. 

“You’re not back on Jakku. Rey, look at me. Rey.” 

He pinches her chin between his thumb and forefinger as she blubbers and sobs, too fevered to make sense of his words. Her eyes meet his. 

“Good girl. Keep looking at me. We’re not back on Jakku, ok? I swear, you will never have to go back there if you don’t want to. Rey, look at me.”

Her head is lolling, even with his hand holding it in place. Her skin is a fire under his palm, and he swipes some of her damp, curling hair back away from her face. 

“We’re on Tatooine. Getting you medicine. Rey, can you tell me where we are right now?

Rey’s eyes roll, and she coughs. It’s a deep, foul cough. He grimaces. 

“Rey, where are we?”

“T-tatooine. Tatooine.” 

“Good. Breathe, sweetheart. Easy. You need to take deep breaths. Your lungs are probably doing pretty badly.”

“N-not back on Jakku.”

“We’re not back on Jakku. That’s right.” 

Rey whimpers, her thin body trembling. The trembling doesn’t stop, no matter what Ben does to comfort her, and soon it’s morphing into a full body seizure, Rey’s eyes rolling back in her head. 

“FUCK. MEDIC!” 

The only medic on the ship, the only one who made it off of Crait, is 20 years old and terrified of Rey, but she edges closer, her small hands gentle on Rey as she helps Ben lay her down and get her on her side as she seizes. She’s already bitten her tongue, and blood and saliva ooze from her gaping mouth as she trembles. 

The seizure passes fast, but the medic doesn’t leave, instead calling for someone to find a scanner in their underwhelming medpack and wiping the blood and drool off of Rey’s mouth. 

Rey’s temperature is dangerously high, which the tiny, shaking medic says caused the seizure. Ben swears, whipping away from Rey’s prone body and slamming his fist into the wall. The medic yelps, curling over Rey like she thinks he’s going to hurt her. Ben snarls, and drives his fist into the wall again, ignoring the shooting pain the blows cause. 

The desert wind whistles in his ears, low and mournful.

Mos Eisley is a shithole. It’s the first thing Ben can wrap his head around beyond the panic running hot in his veins, pulsing in his tender head. Rey is wrapped in her cloak, face carefully hidden from view behind a layer of dark fabric and her sharp cheek pressed against his neck. He remembers with a sting of pain that the younglings, the littlest ones, would rest their heads in the same spot when he or the others picked them up. It’s a sign of blatant trust and vulnerability. 

It would have been prudent to leave Rey on the ship, but he’s the only one who can handle her, even as weak as she is now, and he’s also hulking and tall and generally menacing, so he had to go be the muscle. Finn and Poe lead the way discreetly, collars up, heads down. His mother’s directions had been surprisingly clear for a woman who hasn’t set foot on this rock in 30 years. In his arms, Rey lets out a pitiful low moan, her head rolling across his chest. He shushes her, eyes sharp. She hasn’t woken up since the seizure and his outburst, but she’s still responsive to stimuli. He squeezes her wrist and she flinches away from him with a whine. Good. He soothes her, stumbling into the dark doorway at the end of his mother’s route. Poe’s hand falls to his blaster and Finn sucks in a breath. 

The last thing Ben is expecting to see inside the shadowy building is a cantina, but that’s where Leia has sent them. He swears, blinking through the thin, dusty light. 

“You’ve gotta be fuckin kidding me.” 

Carrying the Jedi Killer, Kira Kriffing Ren, into a crowded bar filled with bounty hunters and gangsters isn’t the worst decision Ben has ever made, but it’s definitely near the top of the list. He only prays to the Force that she stays unconscious long enough for them to find whatever it is his mother thought they would find here and get the fuck out. As if sensing his unease even in sleep, Rey curls a little tighter into his warmth, hands fisting his shirt under her cloak. Ben lets out a measured breath and walks up to the bar. The Twi’Lek polishing dirty glasses with an even dirtier rag levels him with an unimpressed glare, sighing.

“What can I get ya?”

“I’m actually not here for a drink. I need medical supplies, preferably a doctor or medic as well.” 

He brushes the top of the cloak off Rey enough to make the top of her hair visible, because the bartender is eyeing the human sized bundle against his chest nervously. Rey shifts in response, a low growl catching in the back of her roughened throat. He covers her back up and she settles. 

“10A!” 

A scuffed blue BB unit rolls out from behind the bar, whirring. The Twi’Lek bends down, resting a head on the dome. The droid’s round body is carbon scored and creaky. Rey’s breath hitches in the cloak and Ben feels her waking up through the bond, sending soothing waves over it immediately. It’s not working. She’s tensing, ready to panic, to fight her way out of whatever she thinks she’s in. Ben shushes her, feeling one of her fists catch him in the ribs. 

“Rey. Rey.” 

“Everything ok?”

“Just-give me a second. Finn.”

“Yeah?”

“Talk to the nice lady and the droid about doctors for a sec?”

Finn mock salutes, stepping into the space Ben vacates as he beats a hasty retreat, Rey starting to whimper and cry where her face is pressed in the cloak. 

Her eyes are wild, darting around as he removes the cover. It’s late afternoon, the twin suns beginning to dip lower in the desert. Rey lets out a yelp at his face and then stills, sticky and pale and hot. 

“Ben.”

“Just me. We’re getting you to a doctor.” 

She moans again, her head tossing and her limbs flailing. She wants him to put her down, he realizes, when her muddled thoughts flash hard across the bond. He refuses in his head, and she fights him harder, weakening even as she struggles.

“Sleep.” 

He hasn’t compelled in years, but Rey is so ill that she falls right under, becoming dead weight again. Ben sighs, presses a kiss to her forehead, and slides down to sit in the sand as he waits for Finn and Poe.

“We got an address and directions.”

He straightens up, shakes his long hair out of his eyes, and studies Rey’s sleeping face.

“Let’s go.”  
~

The first thing she can think is that her head hurts. She’s cold, but there’s an itchy heat behind her closed eyes that makes her think fever. Is she sick? She’s not in her bed, and she’s not in medbay on a star destroyer. She’s half upright, laying on something lumpy. Definitely not a First Order ship. Murmurs flit through her ears, not the sound of droids. Her chest feels heavy, something thick in her lungs. It hurts to breathe. Rey whines, curling in on herself. Her thigh throbs dully in response. 

“Hey there.” 

A large hand is supporting her head. Rey peels her heavy, hot eyes open, or at least tries to. She can only get them to slit open, a faint shadow of dark hair in her vision. She coughs, spluttering on the thick phlegm the action produces. Ew. She doesn’t feel well at all, and she probably missed training that morning. Supreme Leader is going to kill her.

Wherever they are, it’s a desert. She can smell sunbaked sand and engine oil, the unmistakable dry scent that the desert carries. To Rey, it smells like death. She blinks. 

Ben’s face swims into her sticky vision, a smirk twisting his mouth, his uneven jaw quirked up. His wide hand smooths over her forehead and into her hair. She can feel the tug and itch of stitches in her scalp and thigh. Ben. Rey sighs, melting into his arms. Ben presses a kiss to her scalp, just to the right of the itch. 

“You slept a long time, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. There’s that name again. Kira Ren would bristle and snap at being called that, but Rey, breaking slowly from the dark shell wrapped around her for years and years, loves the sound of it rolling off Ben’s tongue. She looks around her, still cocooned in Ben’s grip. 

They’re in some sort of dark room, the door open to a courtyard outside. There’s a bed, but she’s mostly in Ben’s lap, her head resting on his collarbone and his pulse thrumming in her ear. There’s people wandering past the door, looking relaxed. 

“Did we win?”

Ben snickers, brushing his thumb absently over her bare spine. 

“No, Rey. We’re just in hiding. And being very good at it.”

“Where?”

Ben is looking at her like they’ve had that conversation before, but her fuzzy brain remembers nothing. She nuzzles his collarbone, already sleepy again. 

“Tatooine. Abandoned moisture farm.” 

“Ugh. Sand.” 

Ben laughs, his hand smoothing down her hair. 

“Yep, sweetheart. Sand.”


End file.
